I
the fan makes tired conversations
endless turns beat an uninvited rhythm
on the window sill
I listen to the deep night
perched on the table edge
staring at me while I fail to sleep
I did not ask for this
no matter how much you try to convince me
slowly pulling time through shadows
and darker places
I did not
close my ears fast enough
or my eyes
while the sun sipped
on the last moments of sky
I should have slept then
under the heaviness I felt
closed the curtains
not listened
to you
you would have me write more
about what no words can fill
or feel
unbearable
extraordinary
potholes
broken asphalt
concrete cracked and split in two
oh yes. things grow in the gaps
how could they not
with all the mud stuck in between
perfect for growing wildflowers
or weeds depending
you would have me write about love
as though in the darkness
somehow it would make sense
long enough
to articulate
you would have me write about brokeness
emptiness, loneliness
that you have dressed in love’s clothes
you would have me write in tears
in blood in memory
but I will not have it.
those holes remain
empty cups unfilled
in this deep night
you would have me pretend
in the sorting of words
somehow there would be healing
not more undoing
but I don’t believe you.
I don’t.
you would have me listen,
perched there like a dare
instead
close my eyes
fill my outstretched hand
and let me sleep.
please.
please.
I feel you the way holding my breath
pushes
chest heaves in discomfort
no.
these things you edge closer with
are paper thin
in their existence
I want more than shadows
you torment me with your thinking,
soft words and abandon
closing
one last turn
we will talk in the morning.
~
lei fraser 